


Pretty Follies

by bibliothekara



Category: Criminal Minds, West Wing
Genre: Crossover Pairing, M/M, PWP, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliothekara/pseuds/bibliothekara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless PWP. Duke Law School, sometime in the mid-nineties.  "So there he was, slightly tipsy. His pants half-way off.  On the couch, feeling up one of his best friends. Sam Seaborn decided that he blamed Shakespeare."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Follies

**Author's Note:**

>   So, this is an odd little duck. It's partly inspired by the Hotch-Sam friendship in my story, ["Birds and Bourbon."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/152782) Partially inspired by the awesome AU!Hotch who lives in[ the Kid-Verse.](http://community.livejournal.com/bookofthesaved/profile) (In fact, this may be him, I don't know.)  And partially inspired by the fact that I wanted to branch out and write something new.

**********  
So there he was, slightly tipsy. His pants half-way off.  On the couch, feeling up one of his best friends.  
   
Sam Seaborn decided that he blamed Shakespeare.

 

It was a good-natured sort of blame. And he had a feeling old Will had been blamed for a lot of similar situations over the years.

Because god damn it if Hotch hadn't dragged him to that production of _The_ _Merchant of Venice_   over at the mock court room. It was a decent production, not great. The guy playing Shylock was only so-so, but the 3L playing Portia was fantastic. Her closing statement in Act V had always turned Sam on. And it really wasn't his fault that the two 1Ls playing Antonio and Bassanio had obviously decided to play up the "ex-lovers" angle.

He and Hotch and the rest of their party had spent the the walk to the James Joyce, and the several (more than several, if he was honest) beers consumed there, arguing about the play. Hotch had argued very passionately; Sam couldn't remember exactly about what, now.

Probably because he had spent most of that time otherwise occupied. Staring into those impossibly deep, dark of eyes. Ogling those strong cheek-bones. And thinking way, way too dirty thoughts about those pursed cherry-red lips.

Sam was pretty sure that Hotch hadn't caught on, because a talent of growing up in the Seaborn family was the ability to multi-task, to argue on auto-pilot while one's brain was off somewhere else.

But then Brian, Jillian, Jeff and Tiana had headed over to their end of campus, with him and Hotch off towards the other. Sam was _pretty_ sure that Jillian had caught on to his intentions. If only because the winking "You get him home intact now" hadn't been all that subtle.

The elevator ride had sealed it.  He had forlornly expected Hotch to get off on 3, as usual. He would stay on 'till 5, as usual. And Sam Seaborn would spend yet another night alone with his books. He had even pressed the 3rd floor button, in expectation of this scenario.

But tonight was apparently not destined to be usual. The bell *pinged*. The door opened. But Hotch had not exited. Sam looked over at Hotch. And Hotch looked over at him.

"We're going back to your room, right?"

Sam's mouth gaped open; he looked over towards the door. For once, his wordy brain had completely failed him. He had nothing to say. Until he looked back over at Hotch again.

You didn't see it very often, but Sam had learned to spot it. That twinkle in Hotch's eyes, that small wry smile when he was making a joke. Except this time, the joke was on the world, and Sam was in on it.

He smiled back.

"You _bastard_."

In time with the closing elevator doors, Sam grabbed Hotch's left shoulder and the back of his head simultaneously, and braced both them against the wall. Finding sweet purchase in that just-long enough brown hair. His lips closing over Hotch's, over _Aaron's_ , their tongues finding each other in a rhythm of ecstasy.

While he was concentrating on that, Aaron seemed to have his own plans. Once he had extricated his arms from under Sam's chest, one hand went most definitely southwards. Sam moaned at the sudden deft pressure on his already aroused groin. Under his grasping lips, he felt Aaron smile, and bite mischieviously on Sam's lower lip. Surprised, Sam moved to pull away slightly. But oh, there was that other hand; it had found Sam's tie. First loosening the knot, Aaron then pulled Sam closer.

They stayed that way, entwined, until the cruel ring of the elevator bell spelled a brief pause in their activities.

Hotch pulled back, and looked seriously into Sam's eyes.

"We're doing this?"

"Yes, I think we are."

"Bastard, am I?"

"The most evil one I know."

"I'm not evil. I'm just really, really good at faking it."

"I'm pretty sure you couldn't fake what I felt back there."

"Oh, you're going to pay for that remark."

"I bet I will..."

As Sam made that intentionally provacative answer, Hotch grabbed Sam's tie again. Sam, for once in his life, let himself be lead. But, provided with the blessing of a nearly empty dormitory hallway, it took a *bit* longer to reach his room than they had intended.

And so here he was, on his lumpy, dingy blue couch.

He'd had girlfriends, high school, college, but he hadn't felt like this before. About anyone, let alone another guy. Let alone one of the closest friends he'd ever made. This felt right, this felt good. This felt very, very very good. But did he want to chance losing Hotch if this didn't work?

Hotch seemed to feel his reticence, and pulled back from their embrace.

"Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

He looked up at Hotch. And what he saw there, sealed it. It was lust, yes. But it was also the tenderest, the most vulnerable he'd ever seen Aaron be.

He moved one hand up to cup Aaron's jaw, and then the other.

"Don't you dare stop."

Aaron's tentative expression  broke into a wide, wide grin, and with that deceptive strength of his, practically lifted Sam over onto the bed. Pants were a lost cause, and both pairs of boxers soon followed. Sam almost couldn't breathe, Hotch was kissing him that hard. He grabbed two handfuls of Aaron's hair, and gave as good as he was getting. Then he moved one hand downwards, towards Aaron's waiting cock, throbbing and ready beneath his fingers.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, even as his body spasmed beneath Sam's gentle touch. He pulled back, just enough to whisper in Sam's ear.

"Well, I guess I'll have to return the favor, Mr. Seaborn."

As his own member acquiesced to Aaron's firm and steady grip, Sam's back arched in anticipation. And then, they were in total glorious unison. Their inner rhythms, combined, until they came as one.

Sam fell back, onto the pillows, breathing heavily, Aaron gasping next to him. He glanced over towards his beaming lover.

"So."

"Yeah."

"My god, Hotch, we're lawyers, you'd think we'd have more to say then this."

"Words are good, Sam. Words are very good. But they're not meant for everything."

"You take that back, blasphemer."

"Make me."

"Oh don't you think I won't."

It was a smallish dormitory bed. In a room with thin walls, lousy heating, and crappy TV reception.

 But right now, with him and Aaron together, like this? Sam wouldn't have traded it for any other room in the world.

 ***fin***   



End file.
